


The Slave

by belegur



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Madness, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3951982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belegur/pseuds/belegur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A labourer in Angband recounts his obsessions and perceptions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Slave

 

I have heard much about the Rebel-Creator from the tales of my people, but never have I expected that the truth would be so far from these tales. I have seen just the Renunciate, as in tattered black clothes he screamed before his own throne to the great multitude of hellish, battered souls:  
“The freedom of birds in an insult to me!”  
The great, but barren and simple dome above us concealed such insulting sights, but out in the open, in the heights veiled in smoke, a small, black, sickle moon could be sometimes seen – an eagle, I liked to imagine, that flies so high that it could be said that it flies not on air, but on light only.  
The Lord of this Fortress of Pain is afraid of such sights – for a long time now he spends most of his days in the dark – the boredom of this kind of life unbearable to me even in thought. The work outside is hard and takes a toil on the very soul, but at least I am honored with such sights as that eagle – and the great, free expanse of the Sky!  
He doesn't wash himself, the Lord, and even from a distance he has a powerful odor. He doesn't sleep. He says himself: “It is my penance not to sleep. This is how I show my Father I am worthy.” And so he keeps before his eyes constantly this world which he considers to be terrible. I have seen his Eyes that are crazed from the pain of wearing the Iron Crown. There are almost yellow – I am afraid of those Eyes and don't want to look at them until he commands me to look, and even then a trace of pity haunts me through my fear.  
“Look at my Eyes!” he screams, but I know a little trick. There are luminous jewels above him, and even though there are many who cannot take Their look, and so lower their gaze to his Eyes, I can take Their brilliance. In this black pit, there is freedom in Them to!  
Much later, there was a day when we all slept a sleep of deep rest. I've dreamt nothing, and was a little sad because of this - I thought that at least my dreams were free. But then later, he, half-mad, came from the deep and stood on the crown of the highest tower and outstretched his skinny and shaky hand.  
“The freedom of the Jewel is an insult to me!” he screamed as we followed his finger into the night.  
This is one of the clearest nights I remember, and there, in the distance, I saw it too – the Jewel and the Sky free together, as an eagle made entirely of Light!


End file.
